


Common Ground

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Leverage
Genre: Bisexuality, Family, Gen, M/M, Male Friendship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot and Quinn have a drink together. Turns out they share more than a taste for good scotch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Common Ground

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for "The Last Dam Job". I don't own or rent any of the people/places/things involved. I just write slash for fun. Read at your own risk.

"You gonna drink it or bathe in it?" I hear from the stool to my left. And I know exactly who it is. Quinn. I thought he'd left town already, had another job lined up. I should've known better.

 

I down the scotch in one gulp and throw an acknowledging nod his way. "Why waste good liquor?" I ask. I wave a finger at Mick, a friendly, if entirely too nosy bartender, to order another round. I raise an eyebrow at Quinn who answers with a smirk that rivals my own. "Whatever he's having, Mick."

 

As far as bars go Jack's is a little on the seedy side. It's only a block away from Nate's but it has one thing that Nate's doesn't. No crew watching or interrupting me. Besides, Mick doesn't have a violent bone in his body and, oddly, neither do most of the clientele.

 

Quinn sits, requesting a Johnny Walker Red on the rocks. I expected him to get a shot and be on his way but this type of drink has to be consumed slowly to really be enjoyed. Quinn plans on staying a while, and that can only mean one thing. He wants to talk.

 

"Thought you would've left by now," I say bluntly. I've learned over the years to ask questions directly. I get more honest answers that way.

 

"I was in the mood for some libation."

 

The thing about being a hitter is you have to learn to read people just as well as grifters do. You have to be able to anticipate when a situation could turn violent, when someone might pull a gun out of an inside jacket pocket, when a tick in an eyelid means your opponent is scared. You have to be able to _see_ more than what's right in front of you. What does all this mean to me specifically? Not only does Quinn want to talk, he wants to talk about my crew.

 

"You know, I figured you'd disappear after Moreau..." It's his way of asking why I joined a crew when that's the quickest way to get caught. We both know having people in your life who can be used against you makes you vulnerable.

 

"Yeah."

 

"You, joining a crew. Couldn't see it, Eliot. I still can't."

 

"It works," is all I tell him. It's the only answer I have that makes any kind of sense.

 

"...You're going soft..."

 

I turn my head to glare at him, pissed. Not at him for bringing it up but at myself for not being able to deny it. The more I work with Nate and the rest, the more involved I get. The more involved, the harder it is to walk away. And I should. Hell, I should've a long time ago. It's too late now.

 

"Quinn," I growl warningly, hoping he'll get the hint. He does. The problem is he has his own way of maneuvering around it.

 

"That Chaos guy is annoying as hell. You guys work with him much?"

 

"Too many cooks in the kitchen." As Hardison would tell it, to run a con with his 'arch nemesis' is unforgivable. And he'd hated working with him on this past job, even if two hackers sometimes are better than one.

 

"And what about your guy? Bat cave?" Quinn smiles at the absurdity of it, too bad-ass to laugh out loud. I don't mention how me and Hardison talked about it in more detail on the way home. Or that I actually participated in the conversation. I can't help it. The kid's rubbing off on me.

 

"That's Hardison for ya." In a nutshell. I blink and shake my head, aware of how crazy it sounds. It doesn't occur to me until I say his name that I've just given myself away, that he'd brought him up for a reason.

 

"He is pretty easy on the eyes compared to most hackers I've seen."

 

I let the comment roll off my back, uneasy now. Because it's true. Most hackers I've had run-ins with have looked like trolls. And even worse, their manners and social skills don't exactly disprove the perception. Hardison's different. He gets me. When I wanna be left alone he finds an Xbox game to play. When I need company he comes around to bug me about cooking him a meal or he's giving me unwanted computer lessons. He's there, no matter what. He listens, he talks, he stands close to offer comfort or to share body heat. He's whatever I need him to be at whatever moment. And I don't push him away anymore. I used to. I want to tell Quinn that so he knows I didn't have much choice, but it'd be a lie. He'd see right through it. Instead I give a non-committal grunt.

 

"...He's built like a god, too..."

 

I take a drink, remaining silent.

 

"If you're not..." He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have to. I know exactly what he's saying. He's trying to get a rise out of me, and he's succeeding.

 

"Didn't think men were your thing, Quinn." I cringe inside, wishing I could duck-tape my mouth but there's no point now.

 

"You take what you can get, where you can get it. Right, El?"

 

It's that, right there, that ‘El’ that upper-cuts me. The nickname belongs to Hardison alone. No one else uses it. I don't know why. They just don't. I'm always Eliot. Always. Except with Hardison. Quinn isn't allowed to use it so I turn my head, my eyes blazing with anger.

 

"Of course, if he's taken I'll walk away." He raises an eyebrow, blatantly ignoring, or maybe enjoying, the expression on my face. "Is he taken?"

 

I don't even try to hide the way my eyes drop. Whether I answer verbally or not doesn't matter now. He knows. We're too much alike for me to hide my feelings anymore.

 

"That's what I thought." Quinn finishes his drink and pulls some money out of his shirt pocket. He lays it on the bar and looks out the window a second. "Just be careful, Eliot. The world's a more interesting place with you in it," he remarks sincerely.

 

Quinn turns back to me and winks, then leaves as quietly as he came. I think maybe, just maybe he approves...


End file.
